


Tiger on the Lawn

by Kleenexwoman



Series: my persuasion can build a nation (girls run the world) [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: F/F, Misandry, artisan cocktails
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:43:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4533075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kleenexwoman/pseuds/Kleenexwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THRUSH's top femme fatale and the personal assistant to Number One, Section One of UNCLE walk into a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tiger on the Lawn

**Author's Note:**

> "You're gonna claw the night to pieces  
> Then you'll fingerpaint the dawn  
> You're gonna curl up on the sofa  
> Like a tiger on the lawn"  
> \--Arlyn Gale, _Back to the Midwest Night_

"And fuck you for pawning this off on me," Lisa Rogers muttered to herself. "I'm not your errand girl." Except that she was Mr. Waverly's errand girl, and if Mr. Waverly told her that she had to cover for Napoleon, then she had to, and that was really all there was to it. She could suggest another course of action all she wanted, but the really and truly obnoxious thing was that if there was nobody else to do what needed to be done, then there was simply nobody else. "'Emotionally compromised' like fun." But of course, the security clearance for the file that was going to be stashed in the leather-bound, steel-lined briefcase she was going to receive had been so far above the heads of nearly every agent or courier in the place that the only other choice for this mission was Agent Kuryakin--who would not have been able to complete it successfully--or, well, her. 

Lisa sipped a gin and tonic and reflected on the fact that every accomplishment of her career had just led her to more shit. Top scores in her Survival School class, ahead of the boys, and she had been shuffled into Section IV with the note that "certain personal proclivities would bar this agent from effectively carrying out all of her duties in the field." As though a female field agent's success rested entirely on her ability to hop into bed with any male enemy agent who might seem remotely amenable to seduction. All of the work she'd done in intelligence gathering and interpretation had gotten her high-level security clearance, and a promotion...to being support staff. 

Theoretically, being assistant to Number One, Section One should have been a plum assignment, a quick step to that post yourself without the high fatality rate being in Section II usually brought. But it was clear to absolutely everyone that that section was being saved for Number One, Section Two. Napoleon Solo. Who seemed to be taking advantage of his position early. 

Lisa gritted her teeth. If she had to be Solo's personal assistant, she would absoutely quit. It was bad enough that he was in Waverly's office so often, leering and mugging in that faux-harmless voice. The man was a certified skirt-chaser who deserved a black eye and a kick in the balls, and if the sleazy way he tried to get cozy with her every time they were in a room without Waverly was any indication, he'd be chasing her around the desk within a week of his getting the position. 

She drummed her fingernails on the bar. Frankie and Johnny's on 45th wasn't exactly her idea of a discreet meeting place, all close quarters and mirrors, but Napoleon insisted that it was 'their place.' "It used to be a speakeasy," he'd said, "and the staff still knows how to keep a secret." 

A blonde woman slid into the seat at the other end of the bar--there was only a single bar stool between them. Her platinum hair was carefully styled in a soft flip, just a little out of date--enough to contrast her cool sophistication with the childish, outre hairstyles that were fashionable, but not quite old enough to be out of style altogether. She wore a gray evening gown that seemed to cut a perfect hole of smooth blankness in the gaudy wood and glass of the bar. It was so subtle that Lisa barely saw the fabric, only the way the light caught it as it moved silkily over the platinum woman's body with every soft, controlled breath. Lisa nearly choked on an ice cube. 

She signaled to the bartender. "I'll take a Swiss 69," she said, as she'd been told. Her cheeks burned. She was going to strangle Napoleon when she got back. 

The bartender stared at her. "Sweetie, don't you mean a French 69?" She was going to put laxatives in his coffee. 

"No," she said, "definitely Swiss." She was going to put Spanish Fly in with those laxatives. Definitely. 

The platinum woman cocked her head to look at Lisa Rogers. "Very confident, aren't you?" A smile curved up one side of her face. 

Damn Napoleon and his killswitch passcode. She couldn't believe this was how he'd picked up Angelique. It was disgusting. Lisa put on the severest, blankest face she could. "I'm _confident_ that you left your briefcase at work today," she said. "I thought you'd be here, so I stopped by to make sure you got it back." 

Angelique rolled her eyes. "Drop the cover story," she said. "Nobody in here is going to be alarmed about anything we say." 

Lisa froze. "The idiot met with you in a THRUSH bar," she said. "All these years." 

"Whaddya sayin', we're a creep-house?" The bartender removed his toothpick from his mouth, frowning. "Sister, are you lookin' to make trouble?" He pointed at Angelique. "Listen, this one here's a real classy lady, and even if she ain't she sure don't work for us." 

"Morris, you'll make that joke one too many times someday." One side of Angelique's face smiled patronizingly, the other side sneered. The difference was so subtle Morris couldn't have seen it--but Lisa could. She wondered which side told the truth. "Might we have some privacy?" 

"Aw, sure. I gotta top up the bathtub Scotch anyway, if you know what I mean." Morris placed two martinis on the bar and hopped out. 

Lisa ran a hand under the bar and pointedly didn't touch her martini. 

"You still don't believe?" Angelique raised her martini to her lips and sipped. "Say or do what you will or won't, but you mustn't miss out on tasting Morrie's drinks." She pressed a kiss to the lip of the glass, and held it in front of Lisa. 

Lisa didn't move. 

"Taste." Angelique brushed the glass against Lisa's lips. "Go on. It's delightful." 

Lisa closed her eyes and parted her mouth, letting the martini trickle in. The gin danced over her tongue, smooth, silky, almost unctuous, leaving behind a hint of spring flowers and sharp, piny snow. It finished with a musky hit of earthy, salty olive. 

"Take mine." Angelique placed it in Lisa's hand and drew the other drew in front of her. 

Lisa finally found her breath. "It's a hell of a martini." 

"Oh, darling, it's not a martini," Angelique said. She winked at Lisa and raised the glass to her lips. "It's a Swiss 69." 

Lisa took a mouthful of her drink, savoring the taste before swallowing. She set it down and opened her handbag, fishing by touch so that she could draw out her wallet or her gun. "I'd like to take the briefcase and go, please." 

"It's on me, darling. But you can't possibly go yet." 

Lisa half-expected to see a silvery handgun in Angelique's hand, but it was merely the sun shining off the martini glass. "And why not?" she asked coolly. 

Angelique crossed her legs, letting the grey silk of her skirt fall away from her hose-clad legs. "You haven't fulfilled your organization's end of the deal yet." 

"Agent Solo informed us that he'd delivered the corresponding information to you already." A gigantic strategic error on his part, Lisa thought. 

"That wasn't what I was referring to." Lisa detected a slight gritting of the teeth, a harder set to Angelique's jaw. "He's _not_ here." 

"He's otherwise occupied." 

"He would have told me." Angelique pouted and ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass, and then laughed. "He's breaking it off, and can't say so to my face. The coward." 

"I was under the impression that your little 'unofficial arrangement' was terminated, and pretty officially, too, after what happened last time he was assigned to your operation." 

"So they sent you to replace him." The smile returned to Angelique's lips. "Well, darling, I don't do this sort of thing without the fringe benefits." 

Lisa shrugged. "I wasn't under the impression that the information you provided us was so crucial that we'd be willing to risk one of our top agents' lives for it. Sorry, Ms. du Chien." 

"Oh, I wasn't suggesting the return of dear Napoleon. Not at all." Angelique sipped at her martini. "Men for business, you know--women for pleasure." One gloved hand landed gently on her throat, wandered down to the neckline gathered just above the swell of her breasts. "I think I might enjoy you far more." 

A heat began to gather in Lisa's chest, parallel to the patch of skin that Angelique was fondling on her own bosom. She pressed her thumbnail into the pad of her index finger, trying to distract her body. Angelique could only possibly be trying to upset her, to throw her off balance--there was no way anyone from THRUSH could have that kind of information on her. Could they? "I don't think so," she said, her voice as bland and neutral as she could muster. 

"A shame. I thought you would have." Angelique reached behind the bar and pulled out a leather suitcase. Lisa nearly kicked herself. 

"Thanks," she said. She snatched the suitcase and walked out as stiffly as she could.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to make it clear that I like Napoleon! I think very much of him as a character! I also really enjoy the degree to which Lisa Rogers dislikes him.


End file.
